Can you hear me now?

SSG G: I'm going to head to bed, I have to be up early tomorrow.

Me: Okay, but the sheets are in the dryer.

*20 minutes later*

SSG G: (calling from the bedroom) Hey! The bed's not made!

It's the little things.

Me: Hey G, today is military spouse day.

G: mmm'kay. I made you pancakes this morning.

Me: I get a sneaking suspicion that you didn't know that at the time.

G: (giving 'jazz hands') Happpy Military Spouses Day!!!

Me: That's better.

The story of why SSG Grumpypants ran to the store himself.

SSG G: Can you run to the store and buy some pancake mix?

Me: I'll just make some.

SSG G: I don't like them from scratch, I like the mix.

Me: you have got to be kidding me. Besides the insult to my cooking, what happened to 'the car repairs were more than we thought, no unnecessary purchases'?

SSG G: Okay, what I really want is a soda, but I didn't think you would go for 'hey I worked all day, could you go get me a pop'?

Me: over not wanting to eat my cooking? yeah, good choice.

SSG G: (turning to our kid's ABA therapist that just entered the room) Hey Kristen, would you go get me a pop?

Kristen: No. (have I mentioned that I love this girl?)

Me: I would have gone and gotten you a pop. Twerp.

What just happened? No really. Explain it to me.

I just watched my husband lay on the floor in the hall outside my son's bedroom door and pass his pajamas back and forth under the door while my son screamed "No pajamas!" followed by "Gimme back my jamas!!" for about 40 minutes. The fact that we really didn't care if he wore pajamas or slept in his jeans was lost on him. He continued to yell that he didn't want to wear pajamas nonstop until he abruptly announced mid-yell that he needed to go to the bathroom. I open his bedroom door to let him out and found him standing at the door, wearing the pajamas (that he is NOT wearing, Mommy!!) and holding all his dirty clothes. He marches to the bathroom, throws his clothes in the hamper, looks at me with red-rimmed puffy eyes and asks for help brushing his teeth.

The moral of this story is that G shouldn't tell me stuff while I'm already blogging.

SSG G: (calling from the living room) Oh, hey, for that TNA wrestling event we're working I get a backstage pass.

Me: I don't think I'm happy about that.

SSG G: Why?

Me: Just stay away from those TNA girls

SSG G: What? It's not like they are trampy like in WWE

Me: (wheeling the computer chair to the edge of the kitchen and staring at him around the corner)

SSG G: (looking sheepish) heh heh heh.

Me: Seriously, I don't want to see some barely dressed woman rubbing up on you for the camera or have some little girl talking about how she (using my air quotes) "appreciates your service"

SSG G: No rubbing. No appreciation. Got it.

I guess I don't really like the idea of any of the TNA guys "appreciating" him either.

A lock isn't enough, I need soundproofing.

Motormouth knocking on the bathroom door, because, of course, I've been in there 30 seconds in the past 4 hours, so, you know, I was asking to be interrupted.

Me: I'm in here.

Motormouth: I haveta go to the bathroom.

Me: I'm in here.

Motormouth: (with his face against the door) but....I have to go.

Me: take a number

Motormouth: uh.......70?

SSG G: between 1-10. when you pick a number it's usually between 1-10.

Me: (yelling through the door) I said TAKE a number!!

Motormouth: okay.....7.

SSG G: (coming over to the door too) oh, take one, not pick one. You want to go low.

Motormouth: I still want seven.

SSG G: well, then you are 7th in line. I'll go, then Monkey can go, then I'll go get the neighbors and we'll all go before you.

yes, go get the neighbors too so you can all stand outside the door and have a chat while I'm trying to maintain the slightest shred of privacy in this house full of boys. I don't want to live here anymore.

Me: Just give me a minute!!

SSG G: (sounding like his face is also pressed against the door) Babe, he's starting to do the pee-pee dance out here.

Me: Oh for crying out loud. I'm done. I'm done. It's your turn.

Feeling thankful and especially blessed

I'm sitting here in the hospital waiting for Motormouth to get discharged. I'm bored, I'm tired, I'm stressed, and I am indeed grateful for a great many things.



I'm grateful for successful surgeries with no complications.



I'm grateful for the Sunday afternoon nap (pre ER visit) I got to have thanks to a husband who knows I need more sleep to function than him and that is willing to hold down the fort while I rest up from the sleepless night before.



I'm grateful for parental intuition that tells you that even though there is no logical reason to take your kid to the ER, and that the hospital staff will more likely than not roll their eyes and send you home, that you just KNOW that you need to go anyway.



I'm grateful for not ever needing to worry about how we will pay for medical expenses.



I'm grateful for a husband who knows that I will be a stressed out mess if I am not the one dealing with the medical decisions.



I'm grateful for the same husband who will then come to the hospital because his son wants him to hold his hand, even though it means he has to ask the neighbor to come over and stay because the other child is sleeping AND that he would call and ask his dad to drive out so the neighbor can get back home to her own kids.



I'm grateful for good neighbors who will come over late at night and not judge the messy state of my house.



I'm grateful for the same neighbor who will lend her vehicle so the husband/Dad can drive to the hospital because the wife/Mom took his truck AND her van keys to the ER.



I'm grateful for a husband who chooses not to get ticked off about a wife that goes to the ER in his truck and leaves him no keys.



I'm grateful for inlaws who will drive out late at night to sleep on my couch and deal with annoying dogs just because their kids ask them to.



I'm grateful for the husband who will then drive back home because I am worried that the sleeping son will wake up and not be able to verbalize that he is scared about the change in routine and that grandpa, while great to have around and can totally handle any situation that might arise, is not usually there at 0300.



I'm grateful for a son who handled emergency surgery with a strength and courage I didn't know he was old enough to possess.



I'm grateful for a husband who also notices that the surgical resident was wearing a hoodie sweatshirt and can laugh about it.



I'm grateful for nurses who work the night shift in the pediatric wing.



I am grateful for the past experiences of having to handle these types of things without my husband or family nearby. It made this time around feel like a piece of cake.



I am grateful for friends and family who are willing to do whatever, whenever. I am especially grateful for the ones who understand that sometimes there isn't anything that needs done and don't make me have to come up with something for them to do just so that THEY feel better.

I am especially grateful for discharge paperwork...I wish I had some.

Can't take him anywhere

SSG G and I went out shopping and errand running today while the kids were in school. Moments where we find ourselves alone are few and far between these days (*snort* yeah, right. Make that years) and I was trying to to get some alone, grown up time while the getting was good. We went to Target, which as some of you know, is where I work (for the next week that is). We split up, we wandered around together, we found too much stuff to buy, and headed to the check out. Which, is where it all sort of came unraveled. G was chatting up the cashier and they had a pretty good back and forth going on. I realized that we had too much stuff and went to get another cart to put the bagged items in. As I am walking away I hear the cashier comment on the tank top I was getting. Something along the line of how nice G will look in it. I turn back around with the new cart just in time to see G pulling up his sleeve to show her his tattoos. Apparently he also thought he could rock my new tank top and that it would highlight his tats nicely.

She showed him hers...he showed her his....

G then spent a few seconds harassing me, to which the cashier commented that I should beat him up. G responds loudly that I cheat (as in I don't fight fair, but his exact words were "she's a cheater")......

She then rings up my soda, and G tells her not to bag it because I drink....

To sum up, in the two minutes we are in the checkout line, my husband can't keep his clothes completely on, and he announces to at least 2 employees that I cheat and drink.

Sooooo glad that I had already given my notice.

I would suggest it even if your oven isn't filled with burnt cheese.

SSG G's parents came over for Easter dinner today. We cleaned the house (most of it anyway) and the oven and planned out the menu. G decided to attempt his dad's scalloped potatoes and called him for the recipe, bought his supplies and got it all ready this morning before church. I was also prepping food to be cooked later and was in charge of finding dishes to bake everything in. Because of the amount of food needing to be in the oven at the same time, we decided to make the ham on the grill (it was delicious, in case you were wondering) I would like to take this moment to point out that I offered G no less than three pans to make his potatoes in and he picked out the smallest of the three. I watch him layer the ingredients and try not to say anything. When he's cooking I leave him to it. But even he commented on how he had to stack everything really high in the casserole dish....needless to say his parents had only been in the house about 20 minutes before the kitchen filled with smoke due to milk, flour and cheese that boiled over and into the bottom of the oven. Hee hee heee. In case anyone was wondering, you can make green bean casserole and scalloped potatoes on the grill and they turn out pretty good. I would suggest it even if your oven isn't filled with burnt cheese. I'm so not cleaning that oven again.

Random things that happened on our trip to Chicago

1. We pack enough electronics to entertain 10 people. We also pack enough food to survive in our car for a week.

2. My husband bought cubed ham for the kids to eat in case we couldn't find food for them. The brand? Olde Kentucky Ham. Why? because he doesn't read my blog...or maybe he does and he is trying to torture me.

3. Our Tom Tom hates us. Why else would it takes us on a scenic tour of downtown Gary, Indiana and straight into downtown Chicago just to make us go back out to our destination in a NW suburb?

4. There is a McDonalds in the middle of the highway, the drivethru lane is right next to the lane for the turnpike. We almost got in the wrong lane.

5. We got to about the Loop in Chi-town when Monkey decided he wanted to go home. NOW.

6. The mall across the street where I had to go to buy the "discounted" tickets for the Lego Discovery Zone has 3 levels.

7. No one asked to see our tickets upon entering the Discovery Zone. I could have saved over $40 bucks and a trip into the 3 story mall on the first nice Saturday afternoon of the year.

8. Monkey threw a fit for no less than 1/2 hour before he would enter the Zone. Why does no one call the police when they see a woman pinning a child into a corner in a parking garage while he begs her to let him go?

9. We missed one of the toll booths on the turnpike. I wonder if they just mail us a ticket and how much it costs to skip paying the $.80 toll.

10. G informed me that he "didn't want to hear it anymore" when I complained that he was going to fast.

11. 20 minutes later he informed me that "I was right" just before the state trooper flipped on his lights and pulled us over.

12. Cops must be able to smell each other, G never gets a ticket.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

Me: Oh come on. Honestly, I think it is sexy when you do it. I've had to do it by myself all month while you've been gone.

G: Really? This? This turns you on? I'm not doing it. It's your job anyway.

Me: Oh G, don't make me beg. Just do it for me while you're home. Please.....Please?

G: *grumbling* Oh fine. I'll load the dishwasher.

He looked so insulted, but it felt good.

G called to inform me that he got orders today. Scared me half to death, thought he was getting stationed someplace else. No, he finally got his orders for his promotion to from Sergeant to Staff Sergeant (hooah for pay raises). G comes home and says the following:

G: Man, my chest hurts.

Me: What?! You had your promotion ceremony today? (*if the thread of this conversation makes no sense to you I have provided an "Army for Dummies" footnote*) Without me? That's nice.

G: I've been wearing the rank for a while now, just didn't have the orders. It wasn't really a ceremony, we sort of skipped all of that.

Me: and went straight to punching you in the chest? Fantastic. I would like to actually go to one of your promotion ceremonies someday.

G: I'm sorry babe, would you like to punch me in the chest?

Me: *sulking* no..............yes.



*Here's a brief explanation of a little piece of Army lore for those of you who don't readily know what a promotion ceremony consists of. There is a stuffy little ceremony, some higher up says a few words and reads whatever is written on the certificate they give you. Your spouse is invited and they take some pictures. THEN everyone takes a turn pounding your rank onto your chest. This was a little more barbaric when the Army had pin-on rank. G came home after making Specialist with multiple puncture wounds spaced a half inch apart set inside the ugliest bruise I've ever seen. Now the rank Velcro's to your shirt and it isn't as fun for all those who are the 'pounders'. So to compensate they just hit the 'poundee' harder.

I shudder to think what other lies are out there, just waiting to rear their ugly heads.

The stress of the holidays can get to you. It doesn't take much. You are running and shopping and mailing and baking on top of all the usual craziness and it doesn't take much for you to feel out of step. Miscommunication has been an issue for G and I lately. It goes in cycles in our house as I am sure it does in every family. Sometimes you click, you are in-sync, sometimes you are...not. It happens more when things get busy, and I don't worry about it too much. Until the other day, when I stumbled upon a realization that shook me to my very core. When I learned that something I had considered to be a fundamental truth was false. My marriage is based partially upon a misconception. It turns out...


that G






doesn't like







Pot roast.





That's right.





Pot roast.



Not a big deal, you say?




Sure, I can see why you would think that this is frivolous.




I mean, after all, it's. just. pot roast.




Pot roast. The easy, simple, impossible to screw up, throw-it-in-and-walk-away dinner. Except for the fact that I can't make it. That's not entirely true, I can indeed make it, it just isn't very good. My pot roast is one of those meals that when served, I am praised as if I am 12 and this is the first meal I have ever cooked. Oh, sure, people eat it, because it's rude to come to dinner and not eat what is served, not because it is delicious-just-like-grandma-makes-it. Now, please understand, I am not begging for your recipes and tips for delectable pot roast. The truth is that I can't stand pot roast. The vegetables are smushy and everything tastes the same. I'm not even going to get into all my particular issues with this meal, just know that it makes me gag a little just thinking about it. That's not the point either. The point is, that my husband likes pot roast, and gosh-darnit!!! I am going to make my man pot roast. No husband of mine is going to wish for his Mama's homecookin' no sireee! So, every six weeks or so (for the past 12 YEARS!!!) I stare at the roast in the meat department and decide that THIS TIME will be it, that I will conquer the beef and my husband will declare it the best dinner. ever.

So imagine my surprise when we are discussing possible meal options for the upcoming week and he mentions his indifference to the roast.

Turns out, he thought I liked it.

It's a world gone mad.

That's how I roll.

My husband has really stepped it up lately. He has been Super Dad and Super Hubby all rolled into a much less grumpy version of himself. This past week alone he has put in 7 hours of practice with Motormouth's Lego League team plus 8 hours of competition today. He has also ran errands, completely cleaned out the garage so both vehicles actually fit in it, surprised me by taking me to see New Moon, cheerfully sat home alone Friday night with the kiddos while I went to a home party, and did laundry and dishes without me asking. Keep in mind that he has only been home since Wednesday afternoon and about the first thing he did when he got home was make dinner for the kids.

Jealous yet?

Take comfort in knowing that he probably won't bother to be so sweet in the future, since this is how I repay his kindness:

I run his truck into the garage. You know, the truck he waited 10 years to get because we could

never afford it. The one he had to reenlist in the Army to get. Yup. That one.

Then to add insult to injury I red-necked it up by 'fixing' it with colored packing tape so every one can see it.

What I should have said was "YES!!"

G is trying on his new, bright orange, bib overall style hunting pants.

G: Wow, maybe I should give these to my dad, they are really big on me.

Me: You certainly are swimming in them. (I am eyeing the matching jacket that he is about to put on and start giggling about the visual of the entire outfit) Look Charlie Brown! It's the Great Pumpkin!!

G: Hey, do you want me to be seen in the woods or not?

Me: (what I DID say) Not in that.

(what I tried to clarify with) I don't think I want you to be seen anywhere in that.

Tell me something I don't know.

Me: (glaring at G) Go Hunting!

(I am not a total witch here, the man was trying to give me a wet willy. I swear I live with 3 little boys)

G: (leaning in to give me a kiss and laughing) That's not very nice

Me: Ugh! Brush your teeth and then go hunting.

G: (really laughing now and still trying to kiss me)

Me: Go away!!

G: You know, nobody likes a Grumpypants.

It's funny because it's true.

*on the overhead PA system in Cabela's*
"Terry, please meet your party at customer service. Terry, your party is waiting at the front of the store"

Me: That's code for "Terry, your wife has the keys to the truck, and you have 30 seconds to meet her up front or she is leaving. Hope you can outrun her in the parking lot"

Sgt. G: I wouldn't be worried, I could beat you to the truck.

Me: Because you can run faster than me?

Sgt. G: No, because you wouldn't remember where we parked.

Passive/Aggressiveness; a game two can play.

am not pleasant when I don't get enough sleep. Yes, I know, I chose to have kids, and didn't stumble in thinking "MY kids will sleep through the night" I could have, since my mother gleefully reminds me that HER children slept through the night (definition- sleeping 10 hours or more at a stretch by two weeks old). She explains this phenomena by saying that God knew how she was when she didn't get her eight uninterrupted hours a night and blessed her with children that understood this and needed as much sleep as she did.

Okay.

So I did my part. I brought my super-sleeping genes to the pool and tossed them in. I brought my need to sleep eight hours and donated my half of the DNA. All I can say is that the need for sleep must be a recessive gene, and that the kids weren't my problem last night.

My problem was the other half of my kids' gene pool.

I crawled into bed and was asleep at 9p.m. Sad, I know, but I was T-I-R-E-D. Sgt. G comes to bed at 11 and wakes me up. He is mad because when he went to go to bed he realized that Motormouth had his bedroom light on and was playing with Lego's. He proceeds to tell me how he handled the situation and then rolls over and goes to sleep.

Leaving me to wonder why I needed to be awake.

Maybe he didn't mean to wake me. I am told (and my sister can testify to this) that I can carry on entire lucid conversations while I sleep. Maybe he just wanted to grump a little, and thought I would sleep through it.

I did not.

I laid there and stared at the ceiling, then the wall, then the underside of my pillow, and then the back of G's head. That got me thinking, which is a dark road to go down when you are ticked off and sleep deprived. 2 a.m is when I realized that I wasn't going to be able to sleep until I got some things off my chest. "YOU KNOW WHAT?" I announce loudly. Nothing. I poke G in the shoulder and try again. This time I am successful at waking him and rant for about 5 minutes and then roll over in a huff. I'll admit that I was hoping to get a little revenge. I'll admit I possess the immaturity to gain some satisfaction at the idea of him laying awake while I sleep. I was feeling vindicated. I'm just about to doze off when I hear him snoring faintly. He continues to snore through me hitting the snooze button 4 times before getting up. He was still snoring when I left for work.

Advice that would have been useful 7 HOURS AGO!!

My usual work shift is from 4-8a.m. Yesterday I picked up an off-truck day and worked 5-8a.m. I usually just set my phone alarm on those days so I don't have to mess with my alarm clock, but decided that I like the alarm clock better because it is quieter and I can hit the snooze a couple times. My phone alarm is loud and I didn't want to annoy G with it. (This is what I get for being nice) I had to work my usual truck day shift of 4-8 this morning and my alarm started going off at....3:45. Whoops.
Me: (whispering) Oh NO!!

G: Wha....?

Me: I'm late!!

G: (still asleep and mumbling) don't forget to reset your alarm clock

That'll give you something to tell your teacher on the first day of school.

Motormouth is eating breakfast and G is getting ready for work.

Motormouth: Daddy, you need to get a new tattoo, you haven't gotten one in a while.

(Is G paying this kid?)

G: I'm thinking about it, bud. It has been a while, but haven't decided what to get yet.

Motormouth: a skull. That is what I'm going to get, a skull and crossbones.

Me: I don't think so.

Motormouth: Mom! you don't even have any tattoos, so you don't know.

Me: sure I do, they are just natural ones.

Motormouth: huh?

Me: (lifting my shirt to show him the stretch marks on my belly) These are my tattoos. I got them when I was pregnant with you.

Motormouth: Wow...............that's a lot of tattoos.